King's Ransom (Ruthless Doms 3)

“No,” I tell him, shaking my head, even with his hand still gripping my cheeks. “No, sir.” My words are slurred like this, my voice tight and choked. I close my eyes for one brief moment before I open them again. “I’ll be a good girl.” I let my eyes drop dramatically to his pants and he releases his grip on my face. “I’ll even suck that cock of yours for you if you really want to school my mouth.”

God, I will. I swallow hard and lick my lips. I want this. My voice drops to a low whisper, but I’m not manipulating him. I mean this. “Perhaps I can prove my loyalty on my knees rather than in a crowded room of men.”

“Perhaps,” he says, his voice hoarse and ragged.

I watch as he strokes himself, his eyes boring into me. “Would you, babygirl?” he whispers. “Show me your loyalty on your knees?”

Babygirl.

Oh, God. Oh, I like that. I like that a lot.

I nod eagerly, “Yes, sir,” I say, but once again it doesn’t feel right. Something about this moment is off. I nearly shake my head, because the truth is, everything about this moment is off, everything except the palpable need and want and longing that’s growing between us.

We are both using our circumstances as an excuse. I’m on my knees before him as his supposed “slave.” He’s got me in his grip as my supposed “master.”

But neither of us are immune to the erotic pull between us.

There’s more than role play here.

But before we can take any steps to further this, before either of us does something we regret, he pushes his cock back in his pants and tugs his zipper up. I breathe out a sigh of relief even as my heart sinks.

“I’ll tell you only once, Taara. Watch that smart mouth of yours or the next lesson you’ll get will be on your knees in front of all of them.”

And I know he means it. This is no idle threat.

But worse? I want that.

Then we’re walking to the door, his face angry and impassive, my steps quick and hurried to keep up with him.

What the hell just happened in there?

We exit to the hallway, and I’m pleased to see we’re alone for a few moments. I need to get myself together before we reach the crowd. We don’t speak, though he doesn’t take his hands off of me, not for a moment. His large, rough hand holds mine to him protectively, tucking our folded hands by his side, as we walk toward the main meeting area. I don’t know what to expect when we reach the crowd, but I know that I have to stop fighting him. At least for now.

Not only do I get a chance to prove my loyalty and thereby my innocence, but he mentioned something else as well. Something about Afghani refugees and my ability to help them. What wicked things do the owners of this ship do? And how can I really help? But it stands to reason that it’s in my best interest to observe and not cause any disturbance. I’m hoping all this will become clear soon.

He doesn’t lead me to the main welcome area, though, but to another room. My steps instinctively slow when I see the darkened doorway ahead of us, and the crowd of people walking toward the doorway en masse. Couples with an obvious, decided power difference: the men fully clothed and in charge, the women submissive. The slaves.

But something tells me this is no consensual arrangement. There’s an air of desperation that warns me this is not a little jaunt to a BDSM club, no consensual rendezvous among friends. These men are possessive but lethal, the women under their absolute control.

A large portion of them have my dark skin and hair, and I could imagine them on the streets of my mother’s homeland, dressed in tunbaan and chadoors, the dresses and head scarves that serve as traditional Afghani wear, and it fuels my decision. I may find it near impossible to do

as he says on principle. But I have a choice. I’m not merely a victim in this. If I play this right… I’m undercover, and my job with him has the potential of helping my people.

This I can do.

I think.Chapter 9StefanI hate having her here, exposed in her too-short dress, but worse, in the presence of people I don’t trust. The majority of these men are part of the underground slave trade. The few that aren’t only function as paid staff. She knows very little of what is really going on. We’ve discussed some, but she doesn’t know how badly the infiltration permeates all of America.

Sworn to secrecy, with iron-clad non-disclosure agreements, the staff here welcomes politicians, military, and every form of leadership in our country. They revel in lewd acts and debauchery, and if I’m honest, my brotherhood is no exception. Until my son Nicolai interfered, Tomas demanded payment to his Bratva in the form of a virgin bride from auction. He no longer does so and is happy they’ve cut off ties to the auction now that he knows the Thieves are behind the human trafficking in America, and the ties to the slavery ring among my brotherhood run deep.